


A Spark Ignites

by user83278



Series: Trip the Light [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Family Secrets, Female Stiles Stilinski, Gen, Spark Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 13:12:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/user83278/pseuds/user83278
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deaton once told her that she had a spark. But he had gotten it all wrong.</p><p>Everybody had a spark from the moment they were born.</p><p>Hers however ignited.</p><p>She no longer had a spark.</p><p>She had become a Spark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf.  
> I have not written fanficiton in over ten years (it's been awhile...)  
> English is not my first language and I do not have a beta reader.  
> I would be grateful for constructive criticism, pointers or feedback in general.  
> I hope you enjoy it.

_So, this is it_ , Stiles thought with her gaze fixed on the three tubs filled with ice and mistletoe. They would sacrifice themselves to find their parents.

 _Surrogate sacrifice_ , a part of her brain corrected, _not a real sacrifice, just a surrogate. You’re not really dying. You will come back, rise from the icy surrogate grave and put an end to all the madness_.

Her brain was a funny place. Like it mattered to her whether or not she gave her life to save her dad. She would do it in a heartbeat. Her dad was her life; there was not a single person more important than him. At least not since her mother had passed away eight years ago. Her mom had been the sun and her dad had hung the moon and the stars. As this particular thought crossed her mind, she clutched the star-shaped metal in her hand tight, feeling its edges dig into her skin, reminding her of her task. She might not be good for a lot of things, this one however, she would succeed at, there was just no other option, not for her anyways.

They were ready. Everybody knew what to do. Stiles briefly glanced over to where Allison and Isaac were standing. She suppressed the snort that threatened to escape her throat. Who in their right mind wore a slinky black nightgown like that for an occasion such as this?! Who in their right mind even owned a slinky black nightgown like that?! A shirt and some jeans were just as fine! Not to mention a bra! There was definitely nothing wrong with a bra!

She had noticed Scott’s look the moment Deaton had paired Allison with Isaac. She had grown up with Scott, she could tell what he was thinking. At least she had been able to tell in the past. Nowadays, though, there were others who seemed to be more _in tune_ with him. Still, she recognized the confusion in his dark eyes, the questions that welled up without ever coming to the surface as Deaton demanded their attention for the ritual.

The pairings, while odd at first sight, did not exactly surprise Stiles the second she took them into consideration. Of course, Isaac and Allison where connected. It made sense to her. They were connected via Scott. They were the spokes and he was the hub. Allison and Scott might not be dating anymore; nonetheless, they still harbored deep feelings for each other. The Motel-incident had proven that. As for Isaac, well, after Derek’s display of his underwhelming qualities as a caring and nurturing Alpha, Scott had basically become the focal point in his life. Scott’s home had been his sanctuary. He had stayed and made it his home. He had entwined his life with the ones of Scott and Melissa McCall, always by Scott’s side these days, a good Beta to his chosen Alpha.

A little voice in Stiles’ head whispered words of hatred at that. Jealous little snippets about Isaac stealing Scott, manipulating him and playing the victim to get his way. She crushed these malicious tendrils immediately from blooming, now was not the time, yet, the seeds remained deeply ingrained within her mind.

And just like Scott was the connection between Allison and Isaac, her connection to Lydia must have been Jackson. Lydia had loved Jackson to the point where only her love had been able to rescue him from the curse that was the Kanima; and even though they had ended their relationship, and even though he was thousands of miles away, one could not destroy what they had once shared. One could not change or erase history like that. Naturally, at this point in time, Stiles had realized that she had never really loved Jackson or even been in love with him. He had become a fixation after her mother had died, when the pain had been so strong that she had grasped for even the slightest form of stability to keep her sane. Her father had not been able to provide her with it at that time. He had found his stability at the bottom of a bottle. But that had been eight years ago.

Stiles snapped out of her reverie and looked over to Deaton and Scott. The mentor and the student. Perhaps, Deaton was more than that to Scott, more than just a mentor and something akin to the father-figure Scott longed for silently. He would never dare to admit it out loud, never, partially out of fear of word reaching his mother, partially out of teenage rebellion, but mostly out of denial. His dad leaving several years ago had left deep scars within Scott McCall’s mind and heart and now the man, who had caused her best friend so much agony, had returned out of nowhere. _Hopefully not to stay_ , Stiles thought.

So when the three of them - Scott, Allison and Stiles herself - lowered themselves into the concoction of ice and mistletoe, their designated partners right behind them, she decided to inform Scott of the latest development concerning his father. She didn’t do it because she did not believe in the ritual, she _had_ to believe in the ritual, but she did it because she owed it to Scott, all the while knowing that he had left her in the dark about a lot recently. She did it, because it was the right thing to do. Scott understood. Stiles felt relief at the notion that they still got each other on this level. It gave her strength. It gave her hope.

As Lydia pushed her deeper into the icy pool, Stiles tightened her grip on her father’s badge. She would give her life for him, if she had to. With the cold slowly creeping into her body, into her bones and into her mind, with the last amount of air leaving her frozen lungs and with the light fading from behind her closed eyes, she was not afraid. Not at all.

Stiles had faith.

\--------------------

She awoke with a start to sterile white walls in a well-lit space. A rather large well-lit space, Stiles noticed while looking around until her eyes fixated on the large stump at the far end of the barren room. The Nemeton.

She felt it pulling at her immediately. Its presence was calling to her. Slowly, she started walking towards it, as did Scott and Allison. The eerie silence was only disturbed by the sound of their feet hitting the ground. Nobody spoke, they hardly even drew breath.

Scott stepped forward when they came into the vicinity of the Nemeton. He regarded the annual growth rings, there had to be hundreds of them, before lifting the short sleeve of his drenched shirt. The thick dark rings of his tattoo stood out against his skin and Stiles remembered the night they had gone to the tattoo parlor together. The night Scott had gotten marked. It came to her then, the thought that Scott’s subconsciousness had known and tried to tell them, to prepare them, but they hadn’t listened, hadn’t understood, hadn’t bothered to question its true meaning and purpose.

Stiles saw her friend reaching for the Nemeton. The moment his fingers touched the rough wooden surface, she felt a flash ripping through her.

\--------------------             

Stiles stumbled backwards from the scene or rather _the memory_ she had witnessed and turned around. Strong roots dug their way into the cold earth beneath her bare feet. There it was again, the Nemeton. There, right in front of her. It looked identical to the one in the white room. Nothing more than a stump of wood, fitting in perfectly with the scenery, hidden from the eyes of the world, visible only to the ones in the know. Stiles could not believe it, everything seemed so surreal. She had passed this place so absent-mindedly that night, so unaware of its meaning and its power, its significance to her life and the lives of those she held dear. How could she not have noticed?! How?!

As her emotions got the better of her, she averted her gaze from the remains of what had certainly once been a great oak. It was then that out of her peripheral vision, she noticed a figure emerging from the trees surrounding the ancient druid sanctuary. Frost bled through her flesh and stopped her attempt at movement, much like a vine tightening around her entire being. Stiles’ amber eyes widened.

“Mom?”

 --------------------

The water splashed violently when they emerged from the pools, grasping for the air their lungs demanded.

“I saw it! I know where it is!” Scott exclaimed. He was already leaving the tub, when Deaton, Lydia and Isaac rushed into the room. He looked over to where Allison was stepping out of the water, hearing her talking vividly about the night she and her mother had had to stop and leave their car due to them almost hitting someone.

“I was there. It was me”, Scott could hardly deny his excitement at how their paths had crossed that night. “You had to stop because of me. That was me on the road. It was the night I got bitten by Peter.” The boy smiled brightly at Allison.

“We can find it”, he continued full of conviction and eagerness. Yet, when he turned towards the others, the eagerness faded quickly and was replaced by an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. For their faces only showed confusion and he could easily detect the scent of fear coming from Lydia, whose eyes were fixed on the space between him and Allison.

Dread coursed through his body as he noticed the cause of their anxiety: Stiles was still at the bottom of the tub, entirely motionless.

Allison shrieked, clasping her hands over her mouth. The girl’s scared noise broke Scott’s chain of emotions and thoughts, as he moved with a werewolf’s speed towards the tub that held his friend. He ignored Deaton’s protests of the ritual’s potential outcome, he just desperately grabbed into the water that had lost its’ freezing temperature and tried to lift the human body out of it.

To no avail.

Scott nearly clawed at the thin shoulders, using all of his strength to raise at least Stiles’ upper body to the surface, however, the girl did not move one bit. The body felt abnormally heavy underneath his touch, too heavy for him to lift. He needed a different approach.

“Isaac”, he shouted, motioning with his head towards the end of the tub that was closer to the blond beta. It took Isaac a second to realize what it was that Scott wanted him to do, yet within the blink of an eye, he helped Scott tipping over the tub. They would get Stiles out of the water, one way or another. The water had not even seeped all the way over the floor, when Scott was already on his knees, cradling Stiles’ head gently in his lap, trying to make her wake. He carefully placed her on her side, her bodyweight no longer an issue for him. Although, with her clothes clinging tightly to her frame, her weight might be an issue after all. Stiles’ had always been skinny, but the picture the wet pieces of clothing now painted was definitely not pretty. He suppressed the shudder that threatened to escape him hand continued stroking through her short hair, talking to her, coaxing her back into the world of the living.

“Why won’t she wake up?” He heard a quiver in Lydia’s voice. The banshee was now kneeling besides him. Her slim hands reached out to stroke over Stiles’ sharp cheekbone. “You have to wake up, Stiles, do you hear me? You have to wake up now.”

Isaac was still squatting on the floor near the end of the now empty tub. He looked over to Scott and Lydia, trying frantically to reach their friend - wherever she was. It was then that something caught his eye. Even though Stiles was unmoving, her left hand had a death-grip on her father’s badge. Upon closer inspection, he made out faint traces of blood around the edges of the metal star. The sound of Deaton explaining the situation disappeared into the background, as Isaac extended his right arm to grasp the symbol representing the sheriff.

He never expected the bright electric arc that threw him backwards like a ragdoll, the moment he touched the star and his fingers brushed lightly against Stiles’. All he heard was Allison and Lydia screaming before the powerful impact allowed him to open his eyes again. The lights above their heads had exploded and millions of tiny glass shards littered the floor. Scott had been thrown into the wall opposite from him and for several long minutes, the only sound within the darkened room was the electric cackling in the air.

“Miss Stilinski?” The veterinarian’s voice eventually cut through the silent room.

“I’m here”, Stiles choked out. Large amber eyes roamed the small area within the animal clinic. “What happened? Did it work? I mean, I…I saw it, the tree. I know where it is…what…”

Her nervous rambling was interrupted by Scott pulling her into a relieved hug. Lydia and Allison followed swiftly.

Isaac was still leaning against the wall. He was pretty sure there would be a slight dent about the size of his back in it. He checked his hand for any injuries. There were none, yet he could still feel the electricity tingling over his skin.

 _What the fuck?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your Kudos and your comments. This story got bookmarked, awesome :)

The door clunked shut behind her, barring the noise caused by the upcoming storm. The house was dark and silent. It was empty, lifeless really.

 _Not a creature was stirring_ , Stiles thought to herself, as she leaned back against the door and let her legs slide out from underneath her until her butt hit the floor. The girl folded her hands in her lap, tracing the fresh scab over the lines her father’s badge had left in her palm. She took a moment to breathe. Deep breaths filled her lungs, in, out, in, out. The air seemed heavy, foreboding of the things to come. There might not be a single creature stirring inside the Stilinski home, yet in the depths of the Beacon Hills Preserve, a dark druid was keeping her father hostage in order to sacrifice him.

Stiles was still in a bit of a daze about the events at the animal clinic. She hadn’t understood why her friends had been so relieved when she had woken, or why the lights had gone out, or why Isaac would outright avoid touching her, keeping distance between them, however, he had continuously shot curious glances her way.

Lydia had, of course, scolded her for not waking from the icy pool with the others. Like that was even Stiles’ fault. Like she had actually had control over the ritual. Nonetheless, she had refrained from reminding Lydia that it would have been her ritual partner’s job to get her back into the real world. She had been too confused by...

 _Mom_ , she recalled. The ritual had somehow evoked a vision of her mother.

\----------------------------

“Mom?” Stiles voice was small, barely even audible to her own ears. A few yards over, a female figure stepped almost gingerly towards her, careful not to trip over any roots. The woman wore faded blue jeans and a greenish knit sweater. It was dark, but Stiles could easily determine the once familiar long dark curls that had been tied into a messy bun, the pale skin dotted with moles and the full lips that formed soundless words as though she was talking to herself. Eventually, large amber eyes focused on her. The gleam in them spoke of warmth, fondness and a bit of mischief.

“Zdzisława”, the tone of her voice was light and almost playful. “Zdzisława, what have you gotten yourself into this time?”

Stiles remained frozen. Her heart was beating wildly against her ribcage as thought trying to break free. She would have snorted at the fact that her mind was blank, however, all she was capable of doing, was to stare at the woman, her _mother_ , in front of her. She didn’t remember her mother looking like this. It was sad to think that a child would not know how their parent looked when in good health; nonetheless, for Stiles that was the case. After her mother had passed, she had desperately clung to every picture of her, to keep reminding herself that her mother had not always been sick, that life had been better once. Still, as she grew older, the woman on the pictures faded from her memory and all that was left was the image of a frail pale shell, the ghost of her mother as it was lying in a hospital bed, slowly slipping away from this world into the next.

A shudder seeped through her at this particular memory. The night she had sat by her mother’s bed, holding her hand and talking to her about the things they would do once she was released from the hospital. She remembered how, at one point, her mother had fallen asleep with a slight smile on her face because a mere moment ago, her daughter had told her about this boy in her class who was not as silly as all of the other boys and a few hours later, her mother had passed away. Stiles had failed. She had failed in keeping her mother with them. When her dad had left the hospital earlier because of a rather severe accident, he had told her to keep her mother busy and awake until his return. She had failed. She hadn’t been strong enough to keep Klaudia Stilinski among the living. She had not been able to look her father in the eye that night, when he had finally arrived at the clinic. She had not been able to look him in the eye for a long time.

Eventually, Stiles regained her composure. Her brain went from zero to billions within seconds. Her breathing sped up and the felt her hands tighten into fists as one thought stood out against all others.

“You’re not real”, she told the figure before her, determination lacing her words. “You’re just a part of the ritual, something drawn from my mind to distract me. You’re not real. My mother died eight years ago and her remains lie buried in the Beacon Hills cemetery. You’re one of those things Deaton warned us about. You’re not real.”

“I am as real as you are”, the phantom - Stiles would not consider this thing her _mother-_ took a step forward. “I am as real as werewolves and hunters and kanimas and druids and dark druids and banshees and surrogate sacrifices to safe your father.” It smiled widely. “And I could not be more proud of you.”

“No, you’re not”, with the spell on her body now seemingly broken, Stiles starting walking around the tree stump, gesticulating wildly, although mindful of the distance between her and Phantom-Mom. “You’re not real, remember? You cannot be proud of me. You’re nothing but a dream long dead. Eight years dead!” She was yelling now, not appreciative of the cruel twist the ritual had taken. Letting your dead parent appear was so not okay. Even worse, letting the dead parent say things you always wanted to hear them say. So. Not. Okay. Okay?

Meanwhile, the apparition had crossed its arms over its chest and smiled patiently at the girl. It stood completely relaxed. “Why can I not be real”? It asked with a furrowed brow. “You don’t have any trouble believing in the supernatural, you’ve never had any trouble believing. You always had faith. This is why…”

“Because”, Stiles cut it off, harboring no interest in hearing that voice anymore. It should not be used against her in this matter. It was wrong. She wondered briefly whether or not Allison also had to face an image of her mother. “Because the supernatural is a part of my life. Hell, my best friend is a werewolf and apparently, I’m also sharing a social circle with a banshee. It would be hard not to believe, given the fact that all of them are _real_ people. That are alive. And have not been dead. For eight years. Faith or believe or what-not has got nothing to do with this. It’s just fact.”

“No, sweetie, it’s not that easy and you know it, too”, it moved closer again, aware of the thick oak roots covering the ground. “You believe because you choose to believe. You believe because you actually can believe. Throughout your life, you haven’t lost that part deep within yourself that grants you the ability to hope while others despair. To go forwards while others retreat. To persist while others resign. You sheltered innocence and purity while the world around you deteriorated.”

“A spark”, Stiles breathed out. She had stopped orbiting the Nemeton. The cold had caught up with her. She drew her arms close to her shivering body, her shoulders slightly hunched over. She watched her toes curling into the earth beneath them. “Deaton called it a spark”.

“Well, that’s one way of putting it”, the phantom tapped a finger against its chin as though considering the information. “This brings us back to why I’m here, sweetie.”

The moment Stiles looked up, the spirit was right in front of her; they were separated by less than a yard. She felt tears dwelling up and her lips began to tremble.

“But you’re not real”, she repeated again. She almost sobbed.

“But I am real, sweetie”, it sniveled as well and with a single step, the figure closed the gap between then while extending its arms. It had tears in its eyes. “And I haven’t seen you in so long. I am so sorry that I couldn’t be there for you when you needed me, that I missed out on so much, but I am here now and I just really want to hug my little girl.”    

At this point, Stiles was outright crying. The part of her that wanted to believe won her over and she leapt into the open arms, yet, before she was even able to touch her mom, a flash ripped through her.

\-------------------------------

Stiles was glad that no one had questioned her _absence_ after they had pulled her out of the water. There had been more pressing issues after all, like the upcoming lunar eclipse and the discussion whether or not they should join forces with Deucalion. Stiles had kept to herself as the others argued about a potential strategy until Ethan had pretty much crashed their gathering.

So, Lydia had left with Ethan in order to stop Aiden and Kali from murdering Derek and most possibly every other Hale that dared to cross their path. Without the young alpha’s assistance, Derek wouldn’t stand a chance. Particularly, with Cora out for the count and Peter reduced to beta-state, although Stiles did definitely not put it past the sly wolf to fool all of them when it came down to his actual strength. After all, Peter was the guy who managed to resurrect himself. Peter probably knew more tricks than there were in the books. Nevertheless, it was merely a feeling on Stiles’ behalf; she would need more evidence before she could act on it. 

Right now, though, she would have to gather herself up from the floor of the entryway to her home and get some stuff done. Her body felt stiff ever since she had come out of the tub, yet, what did one expect after lying motionless in a pool of water and mistletoe for sixteen hours? Once she found the time, she might write down a couple of notes about the ritual.

Stiles willed her legs to carry her into the little laundry area adjoined to their kitchen. It was really more of a storeroom, but there was a water-connection and more than enough space for both washer and drier. Since the house didn’t have basement, the Stilinskis had taken to optimize the space they had. In the corner of the room were three laundry baskets: one for dark articles, one for colored articles and one for light or white articles. An old wicker basket in the opposite corner was used for hot wash like socks, towels and sheets. Underwear was to be kept in one’s room till laundry day. This rule had been established pretty shortly after Stiles had gotten her first _girly_ bras courtesy of aunt Jelena and cousin Oxana. She stifled a laugh at the memory of her aunt proudly presenting him his daughter’s new undergarments.

 _Just look at them, Maksym_ , aunt Jelena had practically cooed at her older brother’s dismay, _aren’t they precious? Here, just touch them; this material is perfect for comfort and support at the same time._

Uncle Mikhail had almost peed himself at her dad’s facial expression. Her grandfather had shaken his head at his daughter’s frolics. Of course, her aunt had waited for everybody to be gathered at the table a few moments before dinner to show off what they had gotten at Victoria’s Secret that day. Aunt Jelena was cunning like that. Ultimately, her grandmother had ended her dad’s misery by admonishing them to play nice; otherwise, there would be no dessert for them.

Her father was the oldest of three children. Jelena was six years younger than him and he surpassed Mikhail by almost ten years. The rather large gaps in age was easily explained: her dad hadn’t been planned, not at all. Her grandparents had gotten married while still very young at ages 21 and 23. Her grandmother liked to say that her dad had been a late wedding gift, about nine months late to be exact. That usually got a frown out of her dad, but her grandmother would say it with so much fondness only a loving mother could muster. His siblings were close to him and would always narrate stories about their big brother Maksym doing this and teaching them that and helping them out where he could.        

 _Like a true guardian_ , she thought.

Stiles squatted down, her joints protesting heavily and a groan escaped her throat. She quickly searched for a pair of her father’s socks. If Scott wasn’t willing to sniff her dad’s boxers, well, the socks would have to do. She didn’t really wonder why she was alone in her home, why Scott had gone with Allison and Isaac. Her friend might not always be the brightest bulb in the box, but he was absolutely not stupid. Especially not when it came down to the girl he still had feelings for suddenly showing a _connection_ to a fellow werewolf, who wasn’t all that bad to look at.

It hadn’t escaped Stiles how Scott had stared the moment Allison had suggested that Isaac went with her to the apartment, so that Scott would have been paired with Stiles. A kicked puppy would have appeared like a hell hound in comparison to Scott. So being the best friend that she was, Stiles had told the others that she was fine on her own and that it would make more sense for both werewolves to stay together in case the Darach decided to attack earlier than anticipated. It would be more probable after all that she went after the true alpha and if that were the case, Isaac would stand a better chance of defending them than Stiles. They had not been able to argue with her logic, so Stiles had climbed into her jeep and driven off into the night.

Clutching a pair of socks that even her human olfactory senses registered, she went into the living room to retreat an aluminum baseball bat from one of the shelves. Her uncle was a smith and had forged it as proof to her father that _no, Maksym, smithery is not out-dated. It is an old art, yes, but it is definitely not superfluous in today’s world. Do you have any idea, how much you can make these days with hand-crafted customized goods? If it’s retro or steampunk or whatever, those hipsters will line up outside you door to get it as long as it’s DIY and resourceful and all of that crap. By the way, Zdzisława, if you ever dare to come home with a hipster, your father’s gonna use that bat to break his knees, okay? Now, where was I? Oh, yeah, smithery…_

Stiles grinned at her uncle’s antics. Hipsters were bad; never trust a leather-wearing vegetarian; vegans were not to be trusted at all; guys smaller than six foot were not acceptable. Another jab at her dad, although with 5’9” Stiles was the smallest member of the Stilinski family, her uncle took great pleasure in the fact that he stood at 6’3” while his older brother merely reached 5’11.5”.

She weighed the bat in her hand, watched the reflection of light on its smooth surface and swallowed a sob. Now was not the time to crack. Stiles had to be strong. She had to be strong for her dad.

As she marched towards the front door, she gripped the bat firmly, her father’s socks stuck into her jeans’ pocket. Outside, the wind had picked up and was chasing clouds over the dark sky. The full moon loomed over her. With each step she took towards her jeep, she thought of the reasons for doing this.

_For Erica._

_For Heather._

_For Boyd._

_For Officer Tara._

_For Allison’s dad._

_For Scott’s mom._

_For all the people that had to suffer at the hands of either the Darach or the Alpha Pack._

_I’m coming dad, hold on, I’m coming._     

\------------------------------------

The drive to the meeting point shouldn’t have taken more than twenty minutes under normal circumstances. However, nothing about the current situation could be considered remotely normal. What had been wind was now an entire storm. It had started to pour and to hail.

 _Hah! Hail and Hale_ , Stiles tried to amuse herself to no avail. It was difficult to even make out the street in this weather. Everything was gray: the asphalt, the rain, the sky. The elements seemed to blur together into one obscure caricature of scenery. Focusing did not come easy for Stiles in general, nonetheless, this was insane. There was simply nothing to focus on. Every now and then, when snippets of moonlight actually made it through the fog, she caught glimpses of what she considered to be the street. Otherwise than that? Zero. She shrieked in surprise when a branch flew past the passenger side, causing her to lose focus just long enough for her not to see the tree her jeep crashed into. The impact was inevitable.

The girl’s head smashed against the car’s window, her skull cracked, blood was spilling instantly from the laceration, drenching her hair and her clothes.

Stiles didn’t notice any of this as she hung rather than sat motionless in the car seat. Hitting her head had rendered her unconscious immediately.

Her breathing was getting slower.

Blood kept flowing steadily from her wound.

That night, in the midst of a storm representing the powers they were meddling with, Stiles Stilinski bled to death.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been way longer than I wanted - sorry for that. I will finish this story, though. Only two more chapters to go. I can do it!

Werewolves were real. As were banshees and things called kanimas. And people like the Argents that hunted those becoming a threat to humans. The supernatural was more than myths and stories, it was real. It had been part of his world. It was not to be taken lightly.

Maksym Stilinski had always had a rather curious nature. He liked to know how things worked, liked to have his questions answered, liked to understand. It was the foundation for being a good investigator, something he prided himself with. Yet, for the better part of this year, his own daughter had managed to hide her involvement with the supernatural from him. Of course, if Maksym was to be honest with himself, he had suspected her to be hiding things from him. He had felt them grow apart slowly but steadily, however, he had knowingly ignored the expanding rift between them. He had turned a blind eye.

In retrospect, Maksym knew that it was a protective instinct. As a father, a single father at that, he had not been willing to admit that their relationship had taken a change for the worse. He had attributed the perceptible drift to Stiles’ age. As a teenager, he had also withdrawn himself from his parents in order to make his own decisions and to find his path in life. Besides, Stiles had never openly declared a “teenage rebellion”. There were subtle changes to her behavior at first, nothing severe, little things that could easily be overlooked.

Maksym had figured it was due to Scott dating Allison - the boy’s first real girlfriend putting a strain to the bond the kids shared. Naturally, he had fooled himself. How many times had he encountered this situation at the station? How many times had he faced down parents telling him “my son would never do that”? How many times had he heard “not our child”? How many times had he frowned at those people’s utter ignorance to the obvious? Still, he had done the exact same thing. Deluding himself into thinking that his kid was fine, that she would come to him, if she needed him, that he should just wait for her to open up, that she was not the kind of child that would keep life-threatening secrets from her parent.

And here he was, tied up to a wooden pillar in a cellar somewhere in the woods of Beacon Hills. Taken hostage by a Darach, a dark druid, to be used as a sacrifice to further said Darach’s powers in order for her to be able to kill a pack of alpha werewolves. The past few hours he had spent with Melissa and Chris in this prison had been quite enlightening, to say the least.

Chris had mentioned an upcoming lunar eclipse for this night. Apparently, during the short window of time when the moon was within Earth’s shadow, werewolves were bound to lose their special abilities and return to a mere human state. The Darach had prepared for the event meticulously in order to attack the momentarily defenseless werewolves. The _pack_ as Argent had referred to it, consisted of Derek Hale, the _Alpha_ , Scott, Isaac Lahey, Hale’s long-lost sister, his uncle Peter, the one actually being responsible for the series of murders earlier this year and the turning of Scott, and seemingly also Lydia Martin, Allison and his very own daughter.

He suppressed the pinpricks behind his eyes and focused on his skin burning underneath the tight restrains; his muscles had long ceased to protest against the awkward position the bounds forced him to take. His body was tired from his struggles against the ropes. For an American man his age, Maksym was in good shape, Stiles’ antics concerning his nutrition saw to that constantly. Also, his job required a certain amount of physical fitness, at least according to his standards. The title of Sheriff didn’t just come with the territory, he got elected. He got elected to represent the law-enforcement within the city of Beacon Hills.

Stiles had once given him a rather _educational_ presentation about the correlation between a healthy physical appearance and other people’s percipience of said appearance. It had been a new approach to the topic of them leading a healthy lifestyle. She had even encouraged him to take notes.

 _Dad_ , she had said with a sigh, _I know how much you love your job. And I really love you and I want you to be happy. So, I want you to keep your job because I know that you’re really good at it, too. I mean, seriously, like there’s anyone that could ever be as awesome a Sheriff as you are. But since you get elected for the job, well…People are pretty shallow these days and most of the people electing you don’t even get a third of the awesome stuff you do. All they care for is projecting an image and if you wanna be Sheriff, unfortunately, you have to do more than super-awesome badass police work._

There had been charts and numbers and even some glitter to highlight certain information. His girl had pulled out all the stops, only because he had dared to complain about his diet, _again_ …she might have caught him cheating on his diet _again_ as well. It was nice to know that she cared; however, it was situations like this that made him wonder who the actual parent in their relationship was.     

A loud clash from above brought him out of his reverie. Icy wind instantly ripped through the silent room. He craned his neck to see who had opened the entryway to their prison. Perhaps it was the Darach willing to finish them off as her final sacrifices, but instead, Argent’s daughter and the Lahey boy entered his line of vision. The wave of relief he felt at their sight was short-lived though, the hope to leave this place to return to safety was crushed as the stairs leading up to the only entrance collapsed right in front of them.

The Sheriff took a deep breath. This would be a long night.

\--------------------------------------

The wooden beams groaned beneath the pressure of the earth above. Wind was howling through the already collapsed parts of the cellar, carrying debris into the subterranean cavity, adding lateral force to the considerably strained pillars. The crocked up stairs were beyond usage. There was no way of trading this hell for the one they would certainly face, if they were able to reach the surface that was.

Maksym almost snorted. For the longest part of the last two days, he had desperately attempted to leave this hole and now, with a storm ongoing right over their heads, this place, this _root cellar_ , was comparatively safer than being in the open. Minus the threat of being crushed by masses of dirt, of course.

He looked over to where the Lahey boy held up the most central beam, a pure show of strength. _Werewolf strength_. As a lacrosse player, the kid was bound to be in shape. Maksym remembered Stiles mentioning something about them being together on the Cross Country team as well. Nevertheless, as the minutes ran by, the scourging rain dampened the forest floor further and further, augmenting the weight of the dark soil upon their shoulders. Both he and Argent had joined in the task of heaving up the strongest beams in the cellar. The Sheriff gritted his teeth as he felt his feet digging deeper into the dampened ground.

Scanning the enclosed space, he tried to locate a safe spot for them to take cover. The scarce light made him narrow his eyes as the moonlight had gradually weakened over the past hours, a foreboding of the eclipse. The broken stairs offered no protection; the remaining top part could fall apart every moment, burying whatever was below it. Along the walls was hardly any shelter, quite the contrary, since the long-standing shelves were potentially dangerous, if they tipped over. And the spots where the ceiling had already caved in? Those were no option either, as they were open to the elements raging above them.

Straining his neck muscles as much as possible, his gaze eventually fixated on one spot: the roots of the old oak stump. Even though the tree had been cut down years ago, its roots were still thick and strong, carving their way into the cellar, providing ideal shelter from both storm and dirt. The Sheriff was so focused on his discovery that he didn’t notice the golden flash in Isaac’s eyes, yet, the boy’s shout forced his attention.

“I can’t hold it anymore!” The teen looked almost frightened as he felt his supernatural strength leave him. Instantaneously, Argent doubled his efforts to keep the beam above him from cracking under the pressure on top of it. Maksym could also feel the sheer weight of the ceiling now that Isaac was no longer carrying the brunt of it. The men’s knees buckled under the force on their shoulders. Melissa and Allison tried to aide them to the best of their abilities, nonetheless, the ceiling lowered itself onto them inch by inch.

Labored breathing caught Maksym’s notice. From the corner of his eye, he saw the boy forcing deep shaky breaths into his lungs, his eyes were strangely dilated. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the case about the boy and his father’s murder popped back up. One disturbing detail in particular: a freezer with a locker attached to it, the freezer’s inside walls covered with hundreds of bloody scratch marks. The Sheriff was familiar with the signs of a panic attack, given that his daughter had been prone to them in the years after Klaudia’s death. Of course, the boy was claustrophobic. He would have to act fast, if any of them was to make it out alive.

“Melissa”, he grunted out between gritted teeth, “there is some room underneath the roots of this goddamned tree. The roots will provide shelter. I highly doubt that this thing is interested in destroying itself.”

Melissa frowned, looking back and forth between him and the space he just mentioned. Her inner conflict was clearly visible.

“Just go!” He shouted. This was not the time for discussions but for actions. Fortunately, the stress and the confusion brought up by the overall situation made her comply. He knew that under normal circumstances, Melissa McCall was not one to be told what to do. It was one of many traits that he truly appreciated about her.

“Allison, go with her!” Argent had to shout in order to be heard above the violent storm. “Please!” He added when he recognized the flicker of defiance crossing her face. “Don’t argue with me on this.”

She still appeared like she was about to disagree, yet, as Melissa grabbed her arm to guide them into safety, she didn’t protest and let herself be dragged along, casting a wary look at her father. As the women let go of the beams they had been supporting, the ceiling sank abruptly by at least a foot. The boy’s level of anxiety rose visibly. The poor kid was probably not even aware of his surroundings anymore as deep-rooted fear held him in its clutches.

“Take him”, Maksym told Chris, inclining his head towards the kid, “get him to safety.”

“No,” the other man seemed determined, “I can’t...”

“Yes, you can!” The Sheriff cut him off. “You have to! It’s the only option to keep the city safe! Now, go!”     

Before Chris could even think of an answer, Maksym shoved the panicking teenager towards Argent, forcing the other man into action. In an instant, Argent hurried over to where the others huddled below the tree’s roots, the terror evident on their faces, yet, this was his decision. As Sheriff, he owned it to these people to protect them.

With an antagonizing groan, the last of the pillars splintered beneath the immense pressure from the earth above them. He could not hear Melissa screaming his name as the entire ceiling collapsed with an ear-shattering roar, forcing him to his knees, knocking the air out of his lungs. Something cold smashed hard against his head, numbing him against the sharp pain that mere milliseconds later soared from his chest through his entire body. His eyes flashed a bright white.

Darkness surrounded Maksym Stilinski, the Sheriff of Beacon Hills, as he passed into the next world. Smiling.        

\--------------------------------------------  

“C’mon, kiddo, it’s time to wake up.”

The voice sounded as though there was cotton in her ears. In her entire head to be exact. Stiles felt too heavy to react, too tired to answer. She mumbled incoherently under her breath when she felt someone’s hand touching her cheek, stroking it softly.

“Stiles.”

The voice got a bit louder, more determined. Or maybe it was the cottony fog slowly lifting from her mind. The hand moved from her cheek to her shoulder, shaking her gently. The contact seemed to obliterate the drowsiness currently inhabiting her bones and flesh as though she was awakened from a deep comforting slumber.

“C’mon, now’s not the time for this. Get up.”

Long, dark lashes lifted lazily, allowing sleep-dilated pupils to adjust to the dim light. Stiles blinked several times, then, she sat up slowly, rubbing the heels of her hands against her eyes. Leaning back, she yawned, stretching her stiff arms. She could hear a slight popping noise coming from her joints. When she turned her head to the left, her eyes widened.

“Dad?” she asked warily, her voice slightly trembling. She was not quite capable of placing the surprise she felt at seeing her father. Why would she be surprised to see her dad? Shaking her head to erase the last amounts of fog from it, she found her mind blank. She knew somewhere in the depths of her grey cells that she should know, but there was nothing there. Her father’s touch on her shoulder was soothing, though, so she didn’t panic. “What happened?”

“Well, seems like you hit your head pretty hard”, he chuckled and pointed at her head before offering his arm for support to help her descend the Jeep. Stiles’ limbs felt numb and shaky as she tried to find her footing. Her father held her gently but firmly by her forearms, giving her some personal space. His hands were warm against her cold skin. Stiles shivered. She looked absentmindedly to her right to gather her surroundings. Her eyes fell on the inside of Jeep’s opened driver’s door and her posture became rigid at once. The window was cracked, blood was literally everywhere. She involuntarily reached towards the left side of her head. The tips of her fingers came back with traces of dried blood. In a flash, bits and pieces of the previous night flooded her mind, making her heart race. Her father was still holding her. Her father…

“Dad!” She flung herself into her father’s arms and started sobbing against his shoulder. “Dad, I’m so sorry! I was so worried about you! I know, I should have told you from the beginning but I wanted to protect you so bad and this is entirely my fault! I’m so sorry, I’ll ground myself, I’ll…”

“It’s okay, kiddo”, if her death-grip on him was painful, he didn’t show it. Instead, he stroked her hair tenderly, pressing a soft kiss against her forehead. “It’s okay. I know what you did to get me outta there. I’m not mad. I’m proud of you, Stiles. There’s nothing to be sorry for. Although, we’ll definitely have a talk about all of this.”

Stiles smiled against her father’s shoulder, inhaling his scent. There were still traces of his aftershave and when he had kissed her forehead, a light stubble had scratched against her skin. For a moment, she just enjoyed the close proximity of her dad, the knowledge that he was really here and that he was fine. Eventually though, her senses picked up on other things or rather the lack thereof. She lifted her head from her dad’s shoulder to look around. The dark clouds in the night sky were unmoving; some leaves appeared to have been stopped mid-flight. There were no sounds, only silence. Eerie silence. She took a step backwards to get a better view: the world around them was literally frozen in time. She felt panic rising within her, her breathing sped up and even though the world was motionless, her vision made it seem to spin out of place.

“What is this? Why’s nothing moving? Why’re there no sounds?! Dad, what’s wrong?!” She started scanning the area with wide eyes until her gaze once again fell on her Jeep. Her Jeep that had a rather sturdy tree smashed against its hood. The memory of her accident came back to her at once. She had been on her way to the meeting point. She had been supposed to meet up with Scott, Allison and Isaac to save their parents. She had… why was her dad…the blood…the accident…Stiles throat tightened, breathing was all of the sudden a complicated and strenuous task. Her mind started spinning faster and faster around the ifs and buts and question marks.

Her father’s light touch to her forearm brought her back, though, calming her immediately. She looked at his hand.

“Well, kid, you see”, he sighed heavily, sucking in the air through his teeth, rocking slightly on his heels. “How about I tell you on the way home, yeah?”

Stiles would not meet his eyes. She was composed, yet, she had an unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach. “But it’s a couple of miles ‘til home.”

“Yeah, well”, her dad’s face scrunched up. “It’s a rather long talk.” He cleared his throat, while leading her away from the scene. He carefully entwined their arms, mindful not to break the physical contact.  “You see, kid, you died over there but you ain’t dead. Not really.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her voice sounded small, fearful almost.

“You died but instead of dying and passing into the next world, you awoke.”  


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the clicks, kudos, bookmarks and comments so far :) I really appreciate them <3

At first, they walked in silence. The soles of their shoes hitting the ground was the only sound echoing through the empty streets. The world was still frozen in time. They passed leaves and branches seemingly stuck in the air mid-flight. Trash cans that appeared to have been stopped as they were rolling over sidewalks, emptying their contents all over the pavement. Stiles wondered absentmindedly how long cleaning up the damages from the storm would take, when her dad’s calm voice interrupted the quiet.

 “Our kind”, he started thoughtfully, his eyes focusing on a point in the distance, “we are not really a race or species, like werewolves, you know? We are also not like druids or witches, who receive special training to strengthen their natural abilities. We”, he bit his lower lip as he contemplated his next words.

“A spark”, Stiles whispered before he could continue. Her throat had felt tight ever since she had come to her senses near Jeep, “Deaton said I had a spark and that I could use that for magic. That I had to visualize something in order to make it happen.”

“Well”, Maksym cocked his head slightly to the side, “he’s a druid. It would make sense for him to look at it that way, but it’s not the whole story. See, during their training, druids are taught to connect with a certain part of their spiritual energy, their _spark_. They’re taught to harness it to perform their rituals and to use their magic. They are trained to focus on their desired goal, to use their imagination. But imagination is not the same as belief,” he looked at his daughter, “imagination is an ability. Belief is a choice. It’s what our kind relies on. It’s where we draw our powers from.”

“What are we then?” The girl’s voice was barely audible under her breath. She was anxious for his answer, yet, with her, curiosity had always killed the cat. She just needed to know even though she was wary of the outcome.

“We are spirits, basically. We are not really bound to a particular physical form. So it can happen that we don’t always come in the form of humans, but as something else like shifters, for example. Most likely something humanoid though.”

Stiles frowned in confusion. “What kind of spirits exactly?” It didn’t seem logical to her. “I did research. Extensive research. I never heard about any type of spirit that draws its energy from believing. Believing in what? And what’s with the whole _awakening_ deal?” Nothing made sense. Her vision started to spin; everything happened too slow yet too fast at the same time. She felt sick. Her father grabbed her arm a little tighter, pulling her closer towards him. Instantly, the bile that had crept into her throat settled back into her stomach.

“We are not the kind of spirit that you find in the supernatural books. We are mostly overlooked since, well”, she could hear the smile in his voice, “even most of the supernatural thinks that we aren’t real. Quite the feat to accomplish, actually.”

He chuckled slightly. “We have been around for a long time. Longer than _the modern human,_ not as long as mankind itself, though. Through the millennia, we were given many names, some more accurate than others.People like to name things. They always did. If something’s got a name, it’s easier for them to grasp it, to categorize it. So they also came up with names for our kind. Guardians, guides, witches, holy men, some regarded us as demons, while others praised us as gods. The Greeks were one of the firsts to label us as truthful as it has gotten to date: they called us _àngeloi_.”

“Angels?” Stiles snorted. “Seriously? I’m no angel. I would know, if I were. For example, I’m kinda lacking the wing-part here, don’t I? As for the harp, well, we both know it didn’t end so well when Mom thought it was a great idea that I learned to play the piano, now did it?”

Her father eyed her humorously, a wide smile showing his pearly teeth in the scarce light. “Like I would want a repeat session of that. I was practically begging for the late-shifts around the time your mother attempted to give you lessons. I don’t think they were any ear-plugs left in stores within a twenty mile radius, ‘cause they were all stocked in my home office.” Maksym sniggered at the memory. “But seriously”, he still grinned slightly, “we’ve got nothing to do with that religious crap. The term _àngeloi_ came up long before the Christians or anybody else could claim it as their own and give it their own interpretation. The Greeks used that term to describe us by referring to our function.” He paused for a moment, eyeing the full moon high in the sky.

“Messenger,” he finally said, “that’s what that word means. Essentially, cutting down to the core, we’re messengers of the Powers That Be. We receive our tasks from the higher spheres and carry them out. This system has been established thousands of years ago. Of course, in the beginning, the messengers were not, well, they were not really recipients of missions, but more like vessels. The Powers acted through them because the people didn’t posses the necessary level of intelligence to interpret messages, yet.” He looked thoughtfully, reminiscent almost. “This is how humans discovered the use of fire, how they started cultivating the lands, how they developed language and script. The touch of the divine, the kiss of the muse, whatever you wanna call it. Mankind was often guided by at least one of us.” He wetted his lips with the tip of his tongue. “Naturally, people talked about the _wonders_ they witnessed. Legends were born and eventually, religion was created. In the minds of mankind, Gods were conceived. The people were more open to the supernatural back then, more willing to believe in the higher spheres and their actions. It took the Powers some time to figure out the right way to go with us once human intelligence was evolved enough to understand their messages. ‘Cause even though, we work for them, we’re still human. We’ve all got our flaws. In the early stages of the messengers, our people were trusted with a lot of magical power to perform their duties. Some couldn’t handle the responsibility and became arrogant and dangerous. They fought amongst each other. Their powers were taken from them and they were exiled. Those that chose to use their given abilities to the benefit of mankind agreed to be toned down as a means of protection. It took some time to find the right balance between the abilities that would be necessary to fulfill our tasks and the superfluous powers that might endanger others.”

Stiles focused on breathing. In, two, three, four, out, two, three, four. Repeat. Repeat often. She knew that she should not be this calm; that she, by all means, should be on the verge of a panic attack, however, the panic didn’t rise as she expected it to. She merely held on to her father as they walked down the deserted streets towards home, the closeness calming her in a mysterious way.

 “Once awake, training begins for those considered adults. Minors are given time until they reach adulthood to adjust to their new life. After completing your education, the tour of duty starts. In the beginning, you are assigned your station, but after a couple of decades, you can make decisions of your own. Most of us choose to spend our tour among humans. It is our responsibility to protect and to guide them. Close physical proximity is the best way to do that. But, even though we live among them, we are still not entirely like them. We adapt, of course. Living seemingly normal lives with jobs and friends. We appear to grow older. At one point in time though, we’ll leave and start another life somewhere else, outwardly young again.”

“We are not forced to serve without rest. The Powers wouldn’t allow that to happen. There were some _difficulties_ in the past that made them realize that we need time off-duty, so they developed the concept of _vacation_. Vacation to us means becoming human. Being born into a family, growing up, making new experiences. Our minds are wiped, so that we don’t remember anything from the past. We are just normal human beings trying to make a living in this world. We can fall in love, get married, settle down and be free to follow our own desires. If you’re really lucky, you can live a healthy long life. We’re human, though, so we’re not immune to diseases like cancer or Alzheimer’s. If we die a natural death, we return to the other side and start another tour. If we die an unnatural death during vacation, though, we awake again. We stay in this world, all memories of our past restored and we can then either stay or leave for another place to start serving there. Your uncle Mik’s like us, too,” Maksym’s eyes glazed over, “we died together, the first time around, I mean. Was pretty uncommon, even back in the day that siblings or even members of the same family would awake at the same time. We decided to go on this vacation together. The Second World War was a strenuous time for all of us; many desperately sought out a break after that. He awoke years ago, shortly after you were born. Car accident. I remember pictures of the car. An old Chevy. It was his first car. Well, it was actually my first car but I gave it to him when I moved to Beacon Hills. It seemed like a miracle to me that he made it out alive. Of course, now, I know better. They were probably already aware of the fact that somewhere along the way, you would turn out like us and they wanted to be prepared.”

“How did you die? That first time, I mean.” Stiles nearly rasped out. Curiosity had killed the cat again. Good thing that cats had so many lives.

“First time I died”, he sighed, “it was in a fire. Lightning had struck right into the stable and the fire spread fast onto the adjacent buildings. It was in the middle of summer, hadn’t rained in a while. We were trying to get everybody out of the house, when the roof collapsed. I was sixteen, your uncle fourteen. We suffocated under the debris, holding onto each other, making promises that we wouldn’t die that night. It was the night we awoke. The sacrifice is part of the passage, you know? Belief is important, however, the Powers demand that you go a step further as proof of your conviction. When faced with death, many lose their faith and refuse to continue on their path to safe themselves.”

“The ritual”, the teen swallowed, “the ritual wasn’t a real sacrifice, though. It was only a surrogate sacrifice. We knew that we would make it through. Doesn’t that disqualify me? And if it doesn’t, what about Scott and Allison? Are they like us too, now?”

“Scott is not a believer, not like you at least”, he looked at her with paternal pride, “he has a good heart, but he is different from you. Both he and Allison sacrificed themselves, nonetheless, they did it _relying_ on the knowledge that they would return. They wouldn’t have agreed to the ritual otherwise. You on the other hand didn’t care. You would have given your life in order to safe us.” His eyes shone with fondness.

“Most people lose their purity, and I’m not talking physically but spiritually, as they grow older. Unfortunately, once lost, it’s near impossible to regain. Today’s world doesn’t care much about those dreaming and believing in something that is not in their grasp. Belief can differ, though. It doesn’t have to be bound to a certain religion or god. I always believed in people’s innocence, in their virtue, in the deep-rooted knowledge that no one is born evil, that people make mistakes and that they deserve a second chance. With you, you also believed in the good of mankind. You had hope and that hope gave you drive to continue. You had faith. Not always in yourself, but in the people surrounding you. Seems like I must have passed something onto you, after all.”

As Stiles looked up from the ground, her cheeks certainly burning a bright red at her dad’s praise, she was surprised that they had arrived in their street. A bit down the road, she could see the outlines of their home. Had they really walked that far that fast? Looking down the street, there was not a single light on. A flicker of a candle behind a window pane maybe, but she couldn’t tell for sure. She wouldn’t be surprised, if the storm had caused a power breakdown. It would probably be days before the entire outcome of this night could be outlined.

“Why all the trouble, though?” The maple tree in the Garrisons’ front yard had snapped in half. The tree top was wedged in between the garage and the picket fence surrounding the property, some of the piers bending dangerously under the added pressure. “Why couldn’t they just give you back your memory when I was born? Why didn’t they just _reactivate_ you?”   

“We cannot have children during the time we serve, not anymore at least”, Maksym cast a glance around their neighborhood, “it is a safety measure for the child, as our connection draws evil near. A messenger’s child does not automatically become a messenger, yet, the chances are pretty high. If someone was to obtain a child with such potential, well, it happened before and the outcome wasn’t pretty, that’s why they took precautions and altered the rules. Only in the few years that we spend on vacation, we can actually become parents and even then, it is a rare gift. Once the child awakes, we get _reactivated_. That’s a pretty good way to describe it, actually,” he laughed quietly, small huffs of air leaving his body.

They had reached their house. He slowly led them up the paved footway towards the front door. Before Stiles could speak, he started talking again; answering the questions he knew she had been too afraid to ask.

“Your mother is a messenger as well”, he took great care of steadying his daughter when they ascended the few steps up to the porch, “we actually met on one of my first assignments. We were to guide the dead from a battlefield. Usually, people make it on their own, however, falling in battle take its toll on the soul. They’re often confused and don’t find the right way. Also, the sheer amount of fallen soldiers can be overwhelming. The assignment brought gruesome sights but besides that it was easy enough. I heard her voice first, talking gently to one of the fallen soldiers. I turned and there she was. It hit me like a train. You see, for us, it’s like a spiritual bond between our souls, binding us together for all eternity. Being separated from each other is difficult for us. During the past years, she has felt the distance between us stronger than me.”

The sound of his keys clinking against each other cut through the night, as he opened the door, guiding Stiles inside. The house seemed darker than usual. Stiles hadn’t bothered to close the curtains before leaving for the night. Had she even locked any of the windows?  They continued their way towards the stairs in silence. Looking around warily, she noticed that nothing had changed since she had been here mere hours ago. Had it been hours? She could not tell. Her mind started to feel fuzzy again, as they slowly made their way up the stairs to the first landing. Like fog creeping slowly over fields until they weren’t visible anymore. She didn’t like that feeling. Not at all.

The seventh step creaked beneath their weight. It did that ever since that one Christmas Day, when Zdzisława had been so excited to get downstairs that she had tripped at the top of the stairs, flown over several steps and landed with a nasty cracking sound on that particular step. She hadn’t hurt herself _much_ , but her parents had still taken her to the hospital. With only so much as a pancake in the car for breakfast and no presents…and there had been _a lot_ of presents under the tree, she had checked way earlier that morning. The doctor had said that she had been lucky because she had only bruised her shoulder and her forehead pretty bad and her parents had not been able to be mad at her for long. Daddy had carried her back to the car, telling her that she hadn’t been allowed to scare them like that and that she should have been more careful. Zdzisława had protested wildly, _because it had been Christmas and she hadn’t wanted Santa to be mad at her for not unpacking the presents fast enough._ Mommy had laughed at that and she had told Daddy that their daughter had had a point. Daddy had rolled his eyes with a grin and he had kissed the top of Zdzi’s head, the wild mob of curls having tickled his nose.

As they entered her room, her eyes were immediately drawn to her research wall. It was still covered in pictures, diagrams, her posters and notes about the murderers. She had tried so hard to solve this case. Had been awake until the early morning hours to find a way out of this madness. To protect her family and friends. Running on Monster and/or Red Bull, when coffee had no longer been enough. Hell, she had put the kids on Toddlers and Tiaras to shame. Still, people had gotten injured and died. Stiles felt tired all of the sudden, as though she hadn’t slept in a long time. She hadn’t been sleeping properly for weeks now. The exhaustion slammed into her at once, drowning her. She couldn’t even think straight anymore, the events of the night leaving her drained. Her brain was filled with cotton again.

Her bed felt soft under her touch, the mattress slightly giving way as she lay on top of it. Her pillow smelled good. Really good. Her father removed her shoes and tucked her under the comforter in a way that made her remember the last time she had been down with a bad cold. All curled up in a warming cocoon of blankets and pillows, with only her head sticking out from underneath the masses of cloth. He kissed her forehead.

“Sleep tight, kid. I love you. Always will.”

She wanted to answer him, to tell him that she loved him, too. However, as his lips brushed against the skin of her temple, sleep had already consumed her, depriving her of the chance to take one last look at her father. If she had, she would have seen that he was fighting tears. For he had left out a rather important detail, when explaining the ways of the messengers to her.

The rules stated that messenger parents could not raise their own children once the children have awoken. There had been some major issues in the past that forced the Powers into taking this drastic path. Instead, children were raised by other family members or close friends.

It would be a long time, before they would get the chance to see each other again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are, the last chapter to this part of my story. I'm glad that I got to finish it and I'm glad that there are people who enjoyed reading my fiction.  
> I hope you enjoyed it, too.  
> Again, I want to thank you all for your clicks, you kudos, your comments and your bookmarks.  
> I already made the first draft for the follow-up story (roughly 5.000 words...hmm, yeah, that really happened) and I also made a more detailed draft for the upcoming chapters (roughly 3.000 words). I'll do my best to update regularly. I have to update regularly because I want to be finished before season 3b starts...quite ambitious, but manageable.
> 
> Anyways, here's Chapter 5.

Maksym felt someone gently encircling his right arm from behind. Turning his head, he saw dark brown curls. Leaning sideways, he pressed a kissed on top of his wife's head.

“That sleep suggestion could have knocked out an elephant”, she murmured lowly while regarding the sleeping teenager.

“She cannot be awake for this”, he entwined their fingers and gave her hand a loving squeeze, “it wouldn't do her any good.”

“I know”, Claudia leaned her forehead against his shoulder, not bothering to hold her tears back, “I missed you both so much.”

He took a step to the side and pulled her into a tight embrace. For a few moments, they merely held onto each other, reveling in the other one's presence for the first time in years.

“That's why I don't like going on vacation”, Maksym grumbled into her hair, “can't remember one time where we didn't get separated.”

“We are together, now”, she tilted her head upwards to meet him in a kiss.

A clearly audible _harrumph_ eventually forced them apart, their breathing marginally elevated.

“You might wanna keep it NC-17”, Mikhail stood in the doorway, taught arms folded across his chest, a grin on his face, “kid's sixteen, remember? Besides, nobody likes seeing their parents make out.”

“You are an idiot”, Maksym chastised him mockingly, however, he went over to greet his brother with a tight hug. “So they sent you?”

“Officially, she called me right after you disappeared and I took the next flight available”, he explained, “unofficially, though”, he grimaced, “yeah, they sent me. Got a first sign a couple of months ago, so”, he shrugged, “here I am.”

A soft jingling caught their attention, when a tall Doberman entered the room. The tags on his chain collar glinted lightly. Maksym smiled. Of course, his brother had brought his dog. He wouldn't leave Adonis at a kennel, unless there was no other way. The animal trotted over to Maksym, who scratched him behind his cropped ears, until his gaze fell onto the bed. Puppy eyes turned towards Mik in an instant.

“Go”, he told the dog with a small smile, “it's okay. But be _careful_.”

Adonis walked around the bed as though he was searching for the right spot. Eventually, he settled for the lower right corner and stepped gingerly onto the mattress. He curled his body against Stiles' legs and led out a relaxed sigh.

Claudia “awed” at the sight.

“Let's get back to work then”, Mik announced and the three of them headed to the attic, where he and Claudia had already started sorting things out.

\------------------------------------------------

As they made their way through boxes of holiday decorations, old clothes, books, knickknacks and memories, Maksym updated them on what had happened to him and the others. He informed them about the Nemeton being powerful once again and how Derek Hale had started a new pack on his family's old territory. Claudia addressed issues such as his will and his life insurance, whether or not he had everything in order. Mik confirmed that their lawyer had already taken care of these things and as soon as Maksym's body was found, everything should be in order.

“Apparently”, he added while going through a bag of toys, “Maksym has even gone so far as to make preparations for the event of his untimely demise. How thoughtful of him, isn't it?”

“And what exactly would those preparations include?” The older man looked up from a box of old clothes he had meant to donate years ago.

“Oh, you know”, his sibling shrugged, “decided on a funeral home, picked out a coffin, arranged for the alteration of the headstone. All of those tedious little things that nobody really wants to decide on because it just makes you feel so insecure about how well you really knew the deceased.”

Maksym looked beseechingly at his wife. “Please tell me that you did this? Please?”

“Maximus, I am offended”, naturally, his brother would revert to the old nickname. Claudia smiled benignly.

“I took care of it, honey, don't worry. Wouldn't want you buried in the wrong grave, now would I?”

“That only happened once and I apologized sincerely!”

“I had to dig up my own body!”

“Aw, like you didn't need the exercise! Ow! Claudia, why'd you throw that at me?”

“Go back to cleaning!”

For the remains of the night, they worked their way through the entire attic, leaving everything nice and tidy in piles meant for donating, trashing and keeping. The things they agreed on keeping were few and mainly for Zdzisława's sake. By the early morning, Maksym had moved onto his home office and Claudia was about to retrieve into the kitchen to fix breakfast for them. Mik entered his niece's room cautiously. He knew his brother wouldn't allow his magic to slip up, still, better safe than sorry. Adonis rose his head from his paws, his ears slightly perked.

“Come on”, he told the dog, “time for a walk, yeah?”

Adonis looked back at the sleeping girl; he was obviously reluctant to leave the bed.

“We won't be long, just a walk around the block”, Mik turned to leave, “she'll be fine, now, let's go.”

The dog stepped charily onto the floor and followed his master outside.

“Good boy”, Mik praised him when Adonis had caught up to him.

\------------------------------------------------

It had been midday, almost 2 pm, when the shrill ringing of the house phone had disturbed the relative calm of the Stilinski household. Maksym had finished organizing his office, so they had started to clear out the basement. Mik had hurried up the stairs, given the fact that neither his brother nor his sister-in-law could have answered the phone for obvious reasons. It had been a call from the hospital. Beacon Hills Memorial. Of course, he had anticipated them calling, still, having known what it meant had made him dread picking up the receiver. They had found his brother's body but they still needed someone to confirm the corpse's identity. He had informed the others and left immediately.

Now, the stench of germicides hit his nostrils and he fought the urge to gag. Mik had encountered death many times, yet, he would always marvel at the many scents he had learnt to associate with it. In one century, it was the rotting flesh of soldiers on a battle field that had sickened him, in another, it was the corpses burning on piles of wood that had made his eyes burn. In recent centuries, he had grown more accustomed to the sterile smell hospitals seemed to be so well-known for. As he stepped into the morgue, he noticed a perceptible drop of temperature around him. The nurse that had guided him here shivered slightly in her short-sleeved green scrubs. Their arrival caught the attention of a middle-aged woman, the pathologist, Mik assumed from her attire and the fact that she was bent over a corpse, which she quickly covered up with a sheet.

“Mr. Stilinski, I suppose?” She removed her gloves and threw them in a nearby waist-bin, as she walked over to the pair. “I am Dr. Hayes.” She put forth her hand.

“Doctor”, Mik shook her hand firmly, inclining his head.

“Where you informed as to why...?”

“Yes, ma'am”, he interrupted her, his features grim. “Where is he?”

The doctor turned and started walking towards the wall with the drawers. The nurse excused herself to return to the front desk.

“Have they told you anything, yet?” The woman eyed him critically when she stopped and reached for one of the steel handles.

“No”, Mik swallowed, regarding the polished drawer front, “they said that it was very likely that my brother's remains had been found and that they needed me for identification.”

“Well”, the doctor looked at him sympathetically, “it's not pretty.” With that, she tightened her grip and opened the drawer in one swift move.

It definitely wasn't pretty. Far from pretty, actually. It was a dead body, after all. And his brother's at that. Even though, in the back of his mind, Mik knew that this was merely a shell and that Maksym was alive, that they had talked not even an hour ago...still, every time he had to see his corpse, he found it just as distressing as the previous time. They needed to have another talk about one discovering the other had _died._

“What happened to him?” He spoke calmly, feeling that he shouldn't disturb the dead's rest.

“They found him in the Preserve around Beacon Hills. Some type of _disaster tourist_ noticed that the ground had caved in and when he got closer to take pictures, he saw a hand sticking out of the rubble”, she snorted in disgust, “some people are sick, but without the guy, it might have been weeks before the body was found.”

“How did he die?”

“Well, I haven't gotten a decent look at him, yet, but apparently several factors played a part in his passing”, she pointed to the back of his head, circling a certain area with her index finger, “he got hit in the had, quite hard, too. The x-rays revealed a distinctive crack in the parietal bone that he most likely received before he died. A hit to the head like that ought to have left him unconscious immediately.” She gave him a moment to let the words sink in.

“The cause of death, though”, Dr. Hayes inhaled audibly, “is yet to be determined. Since he's only been here for a few hours and I haven't had the chance to perform a proper postmortem on him, I cannot say for sure, however, I am almost certain that after the hit to the head, he had a heart attack and then, well, beneath masses of dirt, he suffocated.”

Mik wetted his lips, taking in what he had just been told. Being buried alive? That one hadn't happened before. His all-time favorite was falling off a horse and breaking his neck, simply because it had been the stupidest way to die at that time, his all-time low being worked to death in a prison camp. Nothing was ever as cruel as a slow death, or rather, watching people you loved gradually dying in front of your eyes.

“Mr. Stilinski?”

“Hm?” he looked up at the woman.

“My condolences”, she cleared her throat, “he was a good man.”

“I know”, Mik replied absentmindedly, “when are you going to release him? He deserves a proper funeral, not this...” he gestured towards the adjoining drawers.

“I understand, Mr. Stilinski”, she sounded genuine, “I promise, it won't be long. The FBI is kinda breathing down our necks on this one for results, so your brother's remains will still be autopsied today. I need you to sign this form, stating that you've identified this body as the one of your brother.” She gave him a clip-board and after skipping through the paragraphs, Mik clicked the ballpoint and signed where someone had marked certain lines with an “x”. After he had taken one last look at the body, she shoved the drawer shut.

“If you wouldn't mind”, she pointed at the board in his hands, “could you hand this in at the front desk on your way out? If it's not a problem, of course.”

“No, it's not a problem”, he inclined his head again as he made his way to the door, “thank you, Doctor.”

A wave of relief washed over Mik, when he left the dreaded room. Maksym owed him big time for this one. Had he even bothered to collect for the last time? Lost in thought, he made his way back to the elevator. He remembered where he had to go and as the front desk came into view, so did the nurse that had led him into the morgue earlier.

“Ma'am”, he said in greeting, holding out the clipboard, “Dr. Hayes asked me to give you this.”

Her eyes scanned the document quickly, before meeting his. “I'm sorry for your loss.”

“Happens”, he shrugged, “don't get to live forever, now, do we?” He sighed, putting his hands into the pockets of his jeans, “good night, ma'am.”

He turned around, ready to make his way back to his brother's home, when a man stepped up to him.

“Agent McCall”, he introduced himself, showing his badge and ID.

 _FBI, huh?_ Mik wasn't impressed. He rose one quizzical brow.

“I would just like to ask you a couple questions, it won't take long”, Agent McCall's smile didn't reach his eyes.

“Well”, Mik didn't have the nerve for this right now. He pulled out his wallet, “here's my card”, he pushed the small piece of paper at the other man, who took it with a slightly perplexed look on his face, “we can make an appointment later this week. I've got more pressing issues to attend to, like planning a funeral for my deceased brother and explaining my teenage niece that she's now an orphan.”

He continued his way down the hall, heading for the main exit. Agent McCall, after a short moment of confusion, followed suite. Apparently, he wasn't happy about being stood up.

“Listen”, his tone of authority only furthered Mik's annoyance, “we have an ongoing investigation. I just need yours and Stiles'...”

“Zdzisława”, Mik corrected him. He had now stopped in his tracks to stare the shorter man down, “her name is Zdzisława.” He felt a deep satisfaction, when he saw McCall shift uncomfortably under his gaze. If there was one thing that their father had taught them, then it was to intimidate people. Came in pretty handy sometimes.

“Only a couple of questions”, the brunette repeated again, slowly, as though he didn't wan to provoke an argument.

“You already asked my niece a couple of questions”, Mik had had enough of this. He was not going to back down easily, “at school, remember? Where you used her emotional distress to pressure her into a statement she cannot even recollect now? Where you abused your status as federal agent to bully an innocent kid?”

Agent McCall had the arrogance to snort at the term “innocent”. That was all it took. His father might have taught him how to intimidate someone, nonetheless, his mother had shown him the great weapon of _public humiliation_ also know as _causing a scene_.

“Show some decency!” Mikhail Stilinski wouldn't allow anybody to mock his family. His shouting in the middle of the hallway surely attracted some attention. _Well, all right_ , he thought, _here we go_. “I just had to identify my brother's body! My brother, who got abducted by some crazy serial killer, and is now lying dead in a steel drawer! And now I have to go back to his house, to tell my niece, _his daughter_ , that she's now lost both of her parents and you?! You have the audacity to walk up to me right now, demand that I agree to an interrogation, demand that my niece has to go through another interrogation and expect me to be _okay_ with it?! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

What a relief! With that being said, Mik practically stormed out of the hospital, his long legs carrying him swiftly through the double winged doors to the parking space. Agent McCall merely stood there, dumbfounded, yet, he gathered himself angrily, when he noticed the disapproving stares he received from the occupants of the hallway.

 _This isn't over, Stilinski_ , he scowled as he exited the hospital.

\------------------------------------------------ 

Mik closed his eyes for a second, took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders. He had already had that particular feeling in the back of his head after he had left the hospital, nonetheless, he had suppressed the urge to give in. He generally refused to open himself up in public spaces for reasons of safety.

“Everything alright?” Claudia eyed him carefully.

“Yeah”, he responded tiredly. The incident at the hospital had left him emotionally exhausted. First the morgue, then McCall, it had been a lot to take in these past couple of days and now this, “just...there's something. They're calling.”

Claudia nodded knowingly, familiar with the feeling that made her skin tingle whenever a new task was about to be presented to her. “Take a moment, then.”

He stepped back from the box he had been bent over. His breathing evened out as his mind went blank. A burning sensation made its way from the nape of his neck towards his left forearm where it settled for a moment. When he opened his eyes, he could clearly see the black lines standing out against his skin.

“Nemeton”, he read out loud, his brows furrowing.

“They want you to go?” He hadn't noticed his brother coming up behind him.

“I'd say so”, Mik sighed, “seems urgent. The feeling's stronger than usual.”

Maksym nodded. “I'll tell you how to get there.”

\------------------------------------------------ 

The tree stump's immense size had made it easy for him to find the place. Mik had suppressed a shudder when he had settled against the remains of the tree. Just a few yards ahead, the cave-in had still been in plain sight, so he had decided to face the opposite direction while waiting. And waiting. And waiting. And waiting. He was used to the waiting game by now, he had been playing it for centuries after all. He was also highly aware that he had no way of pressuring the issue, even if he tried. He had tried before, it hadn't worked out _so well_. At least, he had his phone with him. The reception out here wasn't the greatest, but he didn't really need that for some _Angry Birds_. He had just reached a new high score, when he heard the rustling of leaves. Lifting his head while pocketing his phone, he spotted a young women crawling across the forest floor. She was obviously injured. Maksym had warned him about her, a darach was not to be taken lightly.

“Please, help me”, she groaned, extending an arm in a pleading manner, “please.”

He pushed himself off the stump and took a few steps towards her, however, he was mindful to stop about a yard in front of her.

“I'm not here to help you”, he could feel his skin burning again as he allowed energy that was normally blocked to source through his body. The air around him crackled slightly.

“That's what you think!” She spat blood as she summoned the last amount of strength her body could muster to launch herself violently at him with glowing white eyes. Mik was faster though. She didn't even see the scythe coming down, cutting straight through her midsection, killing her instantly.

“That's what I think”, he tapped the weapon's snathe against the ground once and it evaporated into nothingness. “You've done enough damage, it's time to rest.”

He focused on the body halves at his feet while chanting a spell under his breath in a language long forgotten. The flesh began to decay straightaway, disintegrating into ashes. The wind picked up again. Jennifer Blake was gone. Julia Bennett's soul was finally free.

Mik took one last look around the clearing before heading back to his car. He never noticed the dark figure watching him from behind the trees, its irises gleaming a bright red color.

\------------------------------------------------ 

The days following the night of the darach's death seemed to fly by. Mikhail informed their relatives about Maksym's demise. It was easy to book rooms for them in a local hotel, as most ordinary tourists decided to avoid the city. Apparently, a serial killer on the loose wasn't very attractive for vacationers. As the Stilinski family poured into the house, the sadness each family member carried seemed overwhelming. They had always been a tight-knit bunch, particularly in times of need. Zdzisława was still under the influence of her father's sleep suggestion; she was awake, yet muted. She would answer to questions in a low voice, never actively take part in any conversation, though and for now, Mik got the impression that her detachment was the best he could have hoped for. An emotional outburst about werewolves, darachs and messengers was to be avoided at all costs. At least, until they were alone.

“The doctor says that she's in shock”, he had explained to his mother and sister, who were constantly caught between a fit of tears and the need to provide the girl with as much TLC as possible. Adonis was always at his youngest niece's side, while his oldest niece, Oxana, had taken it upon herself to clear out her cousin's room. She had always been more of a doer, especially in times of emotional distress. Her determined yet highly affectionate behavior towards her cousin, whom she considered a sister, was a welcome sight. Mik had already told his family that he didn't intend on staying at Maksym's place and as Maksym's will revealed, he wanted the house to be sold as well. His brother's testament had been rather _simple_ , to say the least. Mik was to become Zdzisława's legal guardian, they should clear out the house by donating as much as possible, if someone wanted to keep an item for personal reasons they should feel free to do so. Sell the house. Make sure the kid goes to college. Personal documents are in the safe. The combination for said safe was his wedding day. Maksym had always been straightforward and even though Claudia had had a hand in writing his last will, it was easily believable that this were Maksym's parting thoughts. Stilinskis were practical people after all.

By the end of the week, the house was virtually empty, as everybody had gone about clearing and cleaning in order to fulfill Maksym's last wishes to the best of their abilities.

Throughout the entire week, they were left alone. Some neighbors stopped by to express their condolences, still, they never lingered for long. Mikhail had to thank the Powers for Claudia's remarkable gift to cause sheer astounding diversion among the people of Beacon Hills, especially the media. That woman was a true expert in the art of distraction. This way, they were able to have a small private funeral service without any disturbance, unlike the Argent funeral a while back, and since Claudia had also arranged for Zdzi's social circle to be occupied nonstop – the woman was pure genius – they were actually given time to themselves to mourn. It was highly appreciated.

\------------------------------------------------ 

The fog surrounding her mind had steadily lifted over the day. She still felt numb to the core, however, she was more aware of the things happening around her. Like Adonis pressing his nose against her thigh to comfort her. The scent of cleaning agent. Her grandparents, aunt and cousin saying goodbye to her uncle, since they had to catch their flight back to Florida. They had stayed longer than her more distant relatives. She didn't know what day it was and didn't really care all that much either. Her room looked as empty as she felt on the inside. Oxana had packed most of her stuff over the past two days. Packing everything into identical brown boxes, only distinguishable by the labeling. Clothes, games & DVD, school, personal and miscellaneous. 'Miscellaneous' described all the items Oxana couldn't place anywhere else. It was mainly all of Stiles' research, but since Oxana was the greatest cousin ever, she hadn't even batted an eyelash whilst she talked about her infatuation with _Buffy_ during her high school years.

“Hey”, she heard her uncle's soft voice and looked up as he walked into her room, “ready to go?”

Stiles nodded carefully. She remembered people talking about them leaving the house. About moving. Oxana and Aunt Jelena had helped her dress in the morning, just like they had done the past couple of days. She was pretty sure they had mentioned something about a new home. Oxana had commented on demanding a walk-in closet for the new wardrobe Stiles was definitely going to get on Black Friday, when they came to visit them over Thanksgiving in Florida.

“Up you go, then”, her uncle managed an honest smile. He took her hands in his and gently pulled her into a standing position. Adonis got up immediately, eying Stiles carefully.

“Come on”, her uncle guided her into the adjoining hallway, “everything's already stowed away in the car.” It was evident that he didn't want to rush her. She knew that his tender demeanor was supposed to be comforting, still, it didn't reach her heart. Everything was meaningless.

They descended the stairs, Adonis trotting close behind them. Mik led them into the living-room that was now void of furniture and decoration. The walls were stripped of shelves; one could clearly see dark outlines all over the wallpaper where pictures had been removed. The car was obviously parked in the garage, otherwise, they wouldn't have to walk past the spot where she had taken her first steps. Where she had helped decorate the Christmas tree. Where she had watched her favorite movies and cartoons with her parents on the weekends.

Her parents were gone. As was everything else that had once been a part of this household. This house. Her home. It was all gone. It was gone and all that was left was emptiness.

She was familiar with the emptiness. She had experienced it before, when her mother had passed away. However, her father had given her strength. Ever since her mother had left them, Stiles had told herself to keep it together, to be strong, if not for herself, than at least for her father.

But her father was no more either.

While looking around the empty living-room, the emptiness inside of her was replaced by a flood of emotions. Slowly at first, then stronger, hungrier, greedier, claiming her entirely.

She could feel it raking over her as she started to shiver.

Her breathing sped up.

Her muscles began to spasm.

Her defenses against all of the pent-up anguish and pain from years of repression crumbled to dust within seconds.

She slid to the floor, crying.

For the longest time, Zdzisława Stilinski had dedicated herself to others, giving to the point where nothing was left to give. She didn't even notice her uncle kneeling down next to her and embracing her caringly. There were only pain and sadness. Agony consumed her whole being. Her energy seemed to be obliterated.

She felt burnt out.


End file.
